


Nothing More Than a Mirage

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Mary I of England: Truth, the daughter of time [23]
Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The Tudors (TV), Tudor History - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Historically Accurate, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: Christmas 1550. Mary pays her brother Edward a visit at court.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of my Mary I series, but can also stand on its own.

**Nothing More Than A Mirage**

**_24 December 1550_**

The young king sat upon the dais beneath a grand royal canopy, his gaze sweeping the Great Hall. It was Christmas Eve, and the court was in full celebration. King Edward VI, however, adopted his usual aloof and reserved manner while his courtiers partook in the festivities. Such an unfeeling demeanor was unsettling in a child but necessary in a king, and when he was younger, his formality had seemed stiff and unnatural on the uneven shoulders of a child.

But Edward was no longer a child. He had turned thirteen recently and was fast approaching manhood. His arms and shoulders were broadening, though he lacked the athletic prowess that their father had boasted in his youth, and his voice was deepening. He was not quite a man yet, but nor was he the round-faced, eager child who had followed his sister around and peppered her with questions either.

Lady Mary Tudor’s gaze shifted from her brother to her sister. Lady Elizabeth sat close to the king, in a place of honor, though her illegitimacy meant that she sat beneath him and off to the side a little, as it would have been unthinkable for the king to show a mere _bastard_ too much courtesy, even if said bastard was his own sister. That did not stop them from turning to each other and conversing quite animatedly from time to time, as Mary could see from her place at the far end of the high table-- a neutral place carefully chosen to signify neither esteem nor disgrace, a reflection of her uncertain spot in her brother’s favor.

Although Elizabeth ranked beneath Mary in precedence, it was no secret to anyone at court that the king favored the younger of his two sisters-- understandable, after all, as they were much closer in age and religion. Mary hardly begrudged them this, as she was quite happy not to have to discuss religious matters with them.

Mary’s lips tightened imperceptibly, though she was too well-bred to show any other signs of the indignation and outrage she contended with every day. Not since the dreadful days when she was first declared a bastard and made to wait on Elizabeth at Hatfield had she been tormented like this. She could remember all too well the councillors, heretics, and liars her father and his concubine had sent, parading one after another into the cramped, dismal room she was housed in, badgering her to submit. To deny the pope, her mother, herself, God, everything she had ever held to be true. She had held off as long as she possibly could, until finally she knew that she had no choice but to sign or else risk execution on her own father’s orders. The memory of the June night she signed _The Lady Mary Tudor_ to all of the wretched clauses on the Oaths of Submission and Supremacy would always have the power to make her innards shrivel and curl with humiliation and remorse.

With nearly fifteen years’ worth of hindsight, though, she saw now that the terms and conditions that she was forced to accept during her father’s reign were nothing compared to the reforms being wrought on England’s religion now. Her father might have usurped the authority of the pope, but at least the Anglican Church’s doctrine itself had remained Catholic in spirit, if not in name. He had toyed with Lutheran ideas, such as redefining the holy sacraments and denying the Holy Communion but some part of him must have remembered the days when he was still _Fidei Defensor_ and held his tongue on those matters. He had also refused to tolerate radical heretics and dealt with them as they deserved.

But her father was dead, and Edward sat on the throne now. His youth meant that his uncle, Lord Somerset, was Lord Protector, king in all but name. And for all that the Seymours had been instrumental in helping her regain her place at court, Mary despaired that Edward Seymour was now at liberty to inflict heretical ideas on the people now: Bibles and church services in the vernacular, clerical marriages, profiting off of the ravaged Church lands, and worst of all, the denial of the Holy Communion. The Act of Uniformity had been passed last year, outlawing all forms of worship save the Book of Common Prayers, and Mary knew, as the sole member of the royal family who could save the souls of the country from damnation, that it was paramount she stayed faithful to the true religion, even if that meant flouting earthly law.

She had no qualms about violating the laws of her brother’s councillors-- her brother’s _puppetmasters_ \-- if to act otherwise meant violating God’s law, but her defiance had had serious consequences. Nobleman after nobleman, and councillor after councillor had been sent to reprimand her for continuing to celebrate Mass in her house. Her servants and chaplains had been interrogated, and her cousin had had to intervene on her behalf, threatening England with war to allow her to practice her religion in peace. She had even considered escaping the country in the summer, although she knew it was cowardice to flee the realm that needed her.

Mary could bear their disapproval well enough; it was no new experience for her to be belittled for holding firm to her convictions, after all, and a tiny part of her even revelled in being able to take a stand, for there was no greater honor than to suffer in Jesus’s name, but it tore her heart to know that her brother was being influenced and manipulated by his own councillors, being brought up in the reformed faith and poisoned against her.

Elizabeth, too, had grown distant from her. Ever since the scandal with Thomas Seymour and the subsequent death of Katherine Parr, the only mother she’d ever known, she’d turned somber and dignified. She rarely drew attention to herself, preferring to remain on the sidelines and quietly observe. Mary had to remind herself to be charitable and tell herself that Elizabeth was likely trying to salvage her reputation by portraying herself as a prim and proper Protestant maiden, instead of thinking spitefully that Elizabeth was taking after her mother and learning how to dissemble, presenting to the world what they wanted to see.

She had loved and doted on her siblings during their childhood, even though they were potential rivals for the throne and much younger than her; her uncertain political status had condemned her to perpetual spinsterhood, and having no children to lavish her pent-up maternal energy on, she had opened her heart to them. Once Edward and Elizabeth had turned to her without question, running into her arms and screaming with delight whenever they saw her, but now they regarded her warily and greeted her with polite bows and curtseys.

Mary was abruptly brought back to herself by the presence of a page at her side. “My Lady Mary, the king requests that you appear before him.”

Mary glanced up at the dais. Edward was in deep conversation with two of his advisors, two of the most devout ones on the council and whom she distrusted the most. A faint frown marred his features, and Elizabeth was watching them with a hint of anxiety as well. Mary was perturbed as to why her brother would request to see her, so formally, in the middle of the festivities, but she allowed no hint of this to show on her face, thanking the page with a nod and hastening along the length of the long table until she stood in front of her brother.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted, sinking into a curtsey.

“Lady Mary,” she heard Edward say after a few moments, in a voice that chilled her, devoid of any warmth. “You may rise.”

Mary did so, glancing at her brother. His expression matched his voice-- not harsh, but hardly one would expect from a family member. It was the same expression her father had often worn in the years after they were reconciled, always wary and wondering if her submission was genuine and whether he could trust her. Edward had always taken after his mother, but in that instance, his resemblance to their father was both striking and unsettling.

“Sister,” he began, “we hear that you still celebrate the Mass in your household, despite our express commands to the contrary.”

Mary felt her hackles rise at the jab to her faith, but she strove to keep her face smooth. “Your Majesty knows the esteem in which I hold you,” she began, “and I would of course obey you in all other matters, but I cannot and will not in those which touch my conscience.”

It was the principle that her mother had obeyed so steadfastly and taught Mary to uphold, and it was one that Mary would continue to follow until the day she died, or the day she ascended to the throne and had to answer to no one. It had never led her wrong, and she had no qualms about adhering to it now.

Edward was unimpressed by her declaration. “Does it not touch your conscience to break our laws? To honor God with such frivolous and extravagant rituals? When we have encouraged you time and time again to open your heart to the truth? Pray tell, sister, how does that comply with following your conscience?”

Mary was undeterred. “My cousin, the Emperor, granted me permission to be allowed to practice my faith as I wished, and as the whole of Christendom practices it.”

“He made no such promise!” Edward’s eyes flashed, his composure breaking, his conviction in the lies and the heresy that had been ingrained in him since birth plain. “Whatever promises he might have made, they do not excuse your willful and flagrant disobedience of the laws of your sovereign lord. While you are _our_ subject in _our_ realm, we will not turn a blind eye to your disobedience.”

A hush had fallen upon the Great Hall, all eyes upon the quarreling king and his sister. Edward’s glare was so reminiscent of their father’s that Mary found herself quaking and flushing with humiliation. It hurt her dignity to cower before him like a naughty child being chastised, knowing that all present could see a woman of thirty-five answering to a boy barely into his teens, king or no.

For a moment, she was seventeen again, being pressed to pay her respects to her own infant bastard sister, the snickers and shrieks of the other ladies-in-waiting echoing in the halls of Hatfield. She was twenty, being pressed to sign away everything she held precious and submit to a father who had sinned against her, her mother, and God Himself more grievously than she could have ever thought him capable. She was twenty-four again, being pressed to curtsey to a vapid, frivolous girl a decade her junior and unworthy of the title of queen.

All she’d had to sustain her was her faith in God. God alone had been there for her when no one else was, and she would not abandon her God and her faith now, for no earthly reason.

Edward continued, his displeasure evident. “It truly is a shame, Lady Mary, that such disobedience is found in our nearest sister. You would do well to emulate our sweet sister Temperance, the Lady Elizabeth, who behaves with all the modesty and decorum that befits a young lady of the reformed faith.”

Elizabeth looked thoroughly uncomfortable to have her name dragged into the dispute. For her part, Mary was left blindsided by the comparison to her sister, and it took her a few moments to recover from being so openly compared to the girl she was more and more unable to keep herself from thinking of as Anne Boleyn’s brat.

Her tone grew considerably sharper, and she held her head high as she responded. “Then perhaps Your Majesty would do well to open your eyes to those about you--” and here she glanced significantly at the councillors hovering near him, a pointed gesture that no one missed “-- who seek to take advantage of Your Majesty’s youth and mislead you, for their own purposes.”

It was precisely the worst thing she could have said. From the moment of his birth, Edward had been taught to know the power that he would one day wield as king, and to his mind, his age was no excuse for those around him not to follow his orders. Edward clearly did not take kindly to the slight towards his age, and even less kindly to the implication that he was a puppet for his councillors.

“Truthfully, sister, we consider our youth an advantage, seeing as the evil that has endured in you so long is more strongly rooted than we suppose.”

“Surely it is not too much to ask that you at least consider my counsel, as you once did so eagerly,” she finished, softening her tone slightly, beseeching him to remember the days when he had clung to her as though she had borne him herself and valued her opinion above all else. She could not keep the tears from spilling out of her eyes, despite knowing full well that the whole court was gazing at her. “It breaks my heart to know that Your Majesty has been poisoned against me.”

Perhaps the sight of her own tears moved Edward, who began to weep himself. “Please, Mary, dry your tears. I didn't mean to upset you. I only wish that you would leave aside your papist beliefs and return to my side as a loyal, obedient, and loving sister.”

It was the first time in a long while that he had spoken to her without using the royal “we”. It was the first time in an even longer while that he had referred to her simply by her Christian name, without honorifics. Mary scrubbed furiously away at her tears, vaguely aware of Edward doing the same. There were mutters through the Hall, and Mary could well imagine the rumors and conversations that would be dominating court gossip for the rest of Christmas.

Edward had regained control of himself and had resumed speaking with his usual eloquence, though his voice was more subdued now, with a hint of a plea in it. “Lady Mary, we speak truly when we say that we shall be happy to welcome you back into our heart if you would only leave aside your papistry superstition and submit to us as an obedient subject ought to. You need only say the word, and we would be delighted.”

Mary could see in Edward’s eyes that he sincerely wanted to reconcile with her, and despite herself, she was moved by her brother’s still-obvious affection for her. In Elizabeth’s eyes, too, she could see the desire for their family to be united once more. But Mary knew that no matter how desperately she longed to resolve matters between herself and the only family she had left, she could never suppress her conscience to win her way back into their good graces. She had already done so once, and would regret it for the rest of her days. She had a destiny to fulfill, and it couldn’t matter that her heart longed to embrace her siblings again and know that they trusted and esteemed her.

Mary drew herself up to her fullest height, and when she spoke, her voice was frosty. “If it pleases Your Majesty, this is the last time I wish to speak of religion with you. I have no desire to quarrel with Your Majesty, but nor do I wish to compromise my soul. With Your Majesty’s leave, I would like to absent myself from court for the rest of the celebrations.”

The disappointment was plain in Edward’s eyes, but he nodded and acquiesced to her request. “My lady sister.”

“Your Majesty,” Mary curtseyed deeply, then turned and swept down from the dais and out of the Great Hall, angrily brushing away more tears as she made her way to her suite of rooms and ordered her ladies-in-waiting to begin packing for the return journey.

Mary pressed her hands to her temples as she felt the beginnings of a headache. She closed her eyes and for a moment, she was standing in the Chapel Royal, cradling baby Edward as he was baptized, the garter-at-arms’ words echoed to the high ceilings. Four-year-old Elizabeth stood close by, her posture solemn and clearly aware of what a great honor it was to be allowed to carry the chrism oil at the christening ceremony of the heir to the throne.

For one moment, they were simply siblings, rejoicing in each other's presence and the happy occasion. For one moment, it didn’t matter that all three of them had different mothers or that there was such a disparity in their ages. For one moment, she could believe that all would be right for her from now on.

Before dawn the next morning, Mary and her small household had left court. She did not look back as the procession made its way from Whitehall, the wheels crunching in the snow. She drew her cloak around her against the freezing winter air, her breath escaping her in a puff of white as she squinted against the horizon and the rising sun.

Her mother’s birthday had passed a few days ago, she thought absently. Had she lived, she would have been nearly seventy by now. In a few days, it would be the birthday of her full brother Henry, the New Year’s Prince, who had died after less than two months of life. Had he lived, perhaps the Great Matter would have never happened. Perhaps he would be king by now, and their mother would be living comfortably as the Queen Dowager or else peacefully buried by her husband’s side, given a state funeral as the Queen of England. Perhaps Mary would be married by now, queen of her own country and with children of her own in her arms.

The image of being in the midst of a happy family, safe and secure in the bosom of their love, was comforting and sent a pang of such painful longing through Mary that for a moment, she was tempted to order her escort to turn back toward Whitehall, to return and make peace with the remaining vestiges of family she had left, but she ruthlessly quashed the desire. She would not willingly abandon what she knew to be the truth, for earthly favor was nothing next to God’s all-encompassing and eternal love.

If she repeated it enough times to herself, perhaps she would believe it.

With that, she ordered the horses to pick up speed, carrying her faster and faster away from the image of herself, Edward, and Elizabeth enjoying a merry Christmas together, the image that she told herself never could be and was nothing more than a mirage.

She had no idea that this Christmas was the last time that all three of them would be together ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> According to Linda Porter’s excellent biography "The Myth of Bloody Mary", Mary and Edward did have a heated argument about religion during the Christmas 1550 celebrations, during what was coincidentally, or perhaps prophetically, the last time that all of Henry VIII’s children were together under the same roof.
> 
> If anyone has any ideas or requests for any moments from Mary's life, seeing her interact with other Tudor figures, AU Mary-centric ideas, or even an entirely Mary-unrelated idea, leave me a comment!


End file.
